Reach for the stars, you get cut up by the points
by Thousand Faces
Summary: People die all the time. What, you think you're the only one whose ever lost somebody" A peculiar woman finds her way into the lives of two mourning men. Will she heal the wounds or make new ones?
1. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

Disclaimer: If I owned them, my name would J.K Rowling. points to pen name Also, the title and ideas of the whole WYWSHHA (you'll get it if you read) belong solely to ALW and his lyricist.

Author's Note: I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I mean, really, I have no clue. This has been stuck in my head for a while and at first I was gonna make it a songfic, then an one-shot, but now I don't see how I can just do either. This is me first HP fic so…give me some encouragement you beautiful people out there! ::blows kisses:: ::audience cringes::

To the story!!!!!!!

Adios Amigos.

T.F.

* * *

Harry tenderly brushed the snow off of the marble headstone, revealing the spine-chilling inscription forever present in his nightmares:

James and Lily Potter

Beloved

_Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again_

His fingers ran slowly over the icy stone, tracing the deep valleys of the carving, the deep valleys of pain and longing that lay in his heart.

He stood there, his indigo sweatshirt hanging on him loosely, the frozen rain dusting his hair and eyelashes. He felt as cold and lifeless as the hundreds of stone angels that stood around him, giving no comfort and no peace to the despairing teen.

Harry knelt down in the snow, smelling the red rose briefly before laying it gently on the grave. He stayed in this position of supplication, feeling the sting of loss and loneliness throb inside of him.

First his parents.

Then…

Harry shook his head. He wouldn't think about Sirius. He wouldn't.

He felt so alone…

He should go back to the car. Remus was waiting for him.

Harry reluctantly got to his feet, brushing the white powder from his pant legs, when a figure in the distance caught his eye.

A spectral woman made her way down the wide graveyard path, her head bowed. In her hands she held a bouquet of ashen roses, blending with the pallid background. The woman's long black hair was swept up from her face in a ponytail but a few rebellious wisps had escaped and lay delicately on her cheeks. Her walk was crooked and it looked like she was struggling to pick her feet up.

Harry watched the peculiar figure, for several seconds believing that his eyes were playing tricks on him. Her clothing looked worn and faded, the simple black gown torn in places around the bottom and her threadbare cloak was doing precious little to keep her from freezing in the winter temperatures.

Harry checked his watch. The dial shined out 6:30AM. Remus always brought him to the cemetery early in the morning as no one was ever there. It gave Harry a time to think, reflect, and mourn in relative privacy. He looked up from his watch, a frown fixed upon his face; who was interrupting his only time with his parents?

As if she could hear his resentful thoughts, the fragile woman looked up, her eyes meeting Harry's emerald ones. He stood up slowly, never breaking the gaze, his bitterness draining away. In those coffee colored orbs, he saw something he recognized very well; pain. Deep, lasting, pain.

The harsh wind blew through the churchyard, the gravestones whimpering and moaning. She turned away and kept on walking, taking an overgrown path into the heart of the necropolis. Harry was quick to follow her; he wanted to understand why her anguish seemed so similar to his own.

The gravestones grew more aged and dilapidated as the strange individual kept walking. Weeds had long ago overtaken many of the graves that hadn't been tended to for so long. The angel's were crumbling as well, the features of their hallowed faces being expunged by time.

The woman turned sharply, stumbling over her own feet slightly and Harry had to jump over several of the stones to keep up with her. When he had gotten through the marble maze he observed her standing over a fairly new grave site, the only one situated in the particular clearing. Harry concealed himself behind a collapsing statue of Gabriel to watch her.

She stood there for several seconds looking down at the grave, her breathing coming in painful heaves. She started to speak but stopped before forming a word, playing nervously with her only ring. Harry leaned forward, feeling only slightly guilty about eavesdropping, eager to hear what the bizarre creature was going to say.

"I'm…" her voice was hoarse and shaky, the words sticking in her throat, "I'm…sorry. I wasn't there. I should have been there. I left you." She reached into her pocket, pulling out something small and clutching it in her hand rigidly. "I'm never gonna leave you again."

And as she uncapped the small bottle, Harry guessed its contents and ran out from his hiding place. "No wait!" But she ignored his cry and started to pour the poison into her mouth, swallowing as much as she could. Harry reached her and aggressively knocked the bottle out of her hand.

It was already too late. She slipped quietly to the ground, her eyes closing in warped ecstasy. Harry wasn't sure what to do. He looked around frantically. "REMUS!!"

* * *

Remus sat in the car, eyes staring blankly at the carpeted ceiling, mulling over the recent events. It was hard on Harry. Oh yes, the prophecy had been particularly disturbing, but he felt that Harry had accepted that long ago. It was Sirius that Remus believed plagued Harry now.

It been hard on everyone.

It had been hard on him.

Remus's up-turned eyes began to well up with tears but he quickly wiped them away. He was one of the few people that Harry had left. He couldn't wallow in his own grief when he had to help Harry with his own.

Remus sighed retrospectively, remembering briefly the old days at Hogwarts, when it seemed they would never part, the Marauders would be forever.

James, Lily and Sirius were dead. And Peter had betrayed them all.

He was left alone.

Remus was rudely awakened from his disheartening musing by Harry's shouting.

"REMUS!!"

* * *

Harry was kneeling over the comatose woman, trying desperately to find a pulse when Remus came leaping over the tombstones.

"Harry! What happened?! Are you alright?!"

"This woman was in the graveyard and I followed her here and she tried to kill herself by drinking some poison and I tried to stop her but I can't tell if she has a pulse!" explained Harry quickly and frantically.

Remus had to pause for a few seconds to process all that Harry had said and then, upon comprehension, stooped down to the woman and felt along her jugular for any signs of a pulse. There, just below her jaw, he felt a weak beat. "She still alive." asserted Remus, his voice serious as he fished out his wand.

"What are we going to do?" asked Harry. However, before he could even finish, he found that they had apparated into the Emergency Lobby of St. Mungo's Wizard Hospital.

* * *

A/N: Be. BRUTALLY. Honest. Okay? Please, I'm begging you. Do you think the premise I have set up is good or totally wacky? Does it make sense? Did I keep to character? DID YOU LIKE IT?!?!?! I will give you free Sirius plushies if you only click that 'Submit Review' button down there. It would be really appreciated ::smooches::

Adios Amigos,

T.F.


	2. Hero Complex

Disclaimer: Happily, there are only three things that I do not own in this chapter. I don't own the St. Mungo's Hospital building, I do not own Remus Lupin, and I do not own Harry Potter. Lynn Harris and the medi-wizard (poor old sod) are most definitely mine.

Author's Note:

Guess whose back? Back again? TF's back. Tell _all_ of your friends! PLEASE. I am hungry for reviews on this chapter as I am trying out a new style of writing.

Second chapter to my first HP fic _AWWWWWAAAAYYYYYYY!_

ps. I love you all. You get hugs and…cookies. "Nothing funny, heh heh. I just like talent."

Adios Amigos,

T.F.

* * *

Remus and Harry waited in the small, private lobby adjoining the hospital room. The mud wallpaper cracked along the corners, peeling down in spots like the skin of a banana. The area reminded Harry of his room under the stairs at Privet Drive. The dank, musty smell of water damage and age assailed his nostrils and then began beating them senseless with the stench of ammonia and used spells. Faulty lighting flickered over head, tossing faint shadows of past occupants around the room, only heightening Harry's feeling of insecurity. 

This was the best they had for her.

The medi-witches and wizards filed out of the small room, calm in the knowledge that another unfortunate wretch had been saved, another life rebuilt, but solemn with the wisdom that no life, can ever be the same after hospitalization; never a truer fact then for an attempted suicide victim. But, they didn't let that worry them much. Nothing actually worried them much.

The head medi-wizard shuffled slowly over to Harry and Remus, who rose quickly out of the icy, hard chairs they had been occupying during their wait.

Now, the medi-wizard was not an unkind man, he just had little toleration for people who ruined how things were supposed to go. He was old, having lived much too far past his prime, and had recognized that over the years, life had a definite pattern. People are born. Other people care about them immensely. They grow old. They become ill. They come to the hospital accompanied by their closest friends and relatives, all extremely concerned, and they die. Such was the way of the world. People who attempted to hurry up this process were not appreciated, so he had made it his personal goal to stop all these impatient fools from succeeding and making them get on with life.

Harry tapped his foot edgily and Remus continually ran his fingers through his hair as they waited for the old wizard to make his way over to them. After watching the man struggle valiantly for about a minute and moving forward two steps, they decided that if Mohammed would not go to the mountain, or in this case, mountains, the mountains would go to Mohammed.

"Well," questioned Harry impatiently, resuming his almost angry foot tapping, "how is she?"

The medi-wizard looked up at him benevolently, cracking his withered lips into a smile and reaching up to pat Harry's shoulder condescendingly. "She's fine my boy, just fine."

Harry gave a deep sigh, crossing his arms across his chest, and let his chin drop to his chest. _Thank God_.

"You see," continued the wizard slowly, turning his attention to Remus, "The difficultly was that she mixed many different potions together in one bottle. Rather a mess for us." He eyed the room disdainfully. "Some unfortunate relative of yours I suppose? Black Sheep or something like that? I can completely sympathize. Really, what makes these silly fools think that they can weasel out of living? Hm?"

"Uh, well, no, actually-" stumbled Remus, quite unsure of how to go about explaining the strange circumstances that led to the dramatic rescue.

"Can I go in to see her?"

The wizened wizard jumped at the curtness of Harry's question, having quite forgotten about the boy. "Oh, yes, yes of course. You can go right in."

Harry stalked past the man, icy anger dogging his tread. Remus was about to call after him but decided it was not the best course of action to take. The old man continued to question him about the lady until Remus finally said, "She's not a relative."

"Oh, a friend of the family then?"

"No, she is not."

"Well, then-"

"Listen, we just found her. In a graveyard." Remus waited for the implications of this to sink in. The medi-wizards brow furrowed.

"Doesn't one usually find dead persons in a graveyard?"

Harry closed the heavy wooden door, firmly cutting off Remus's reply. He leaned up against it, breathing deeply, allowing the air to flow in and out of his lungs freely, allowing the quiet calm to rush over him.

_If only he could get away…_

He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them slowly, taking in the scene before him with great detail, not wishing to rush anything. The sooner he got bored in here, the sooner he would have to go back out there.

It was a small room, containing few pieces of furniture. The bed was barely large enough to hold the lady, who was actually rather small, and the mattress creaked seemingly on its own accord. A large Victorian lamp stood to the left of it, and glowing dimly, its dusty cover was decked with cheap beads and plastics. To its right was another of those horrible chairs that looked practically collapsible. Pushed against the wall was a tall skinny cupboard containing the woman's few effects.

The woman lay sleeping.

Harry trod across the floor as quietly as he could, his sneakers making no sound against the grimy tiles. Once he reached the side of the bed he eased himself into the uncomfortable metal frame chair, pulling it closer and wincing at the screech it let out.

The lady had been tumbled into a loose white shroud and a sheet was drawn half way up her chest.

Harry sat there, quietly observing the pale face framed by dark brown hair. Her face seemed naturally pale, and she rather resembled a china doll, pure, clean, and perfect; except for a small scar that started at the lobe of her ear and traveled down to the base of the jaw.

Harry watched her, leaning forward once to brush away a lock of mahogany hair from her mouth, before resting his chin in his hands.

"The just don't understand," he whispered, "Do they?"

The coffee brown eyes flicked open.

Harry jumped back, the chair squeaking loudly.

The woman moved her head slowly to get a better look at him. She stared at him, blinking several times to clear her vision.

Silence.

"Who are you?" Her voice was rough and low, gravely from lack of use.

Harry smiled ruefully and lifted up his bangs, revealing the scar as an introduction.

The woman observed it politely for several seconds before propping herself up on the relatively flat pillows and saying, "A name…would be nice."

"Oh, Harry. Harry Potter."

The woman proffered her hand. "Lynn Harris, pleasure."

There was another span of uncertain silence.

"Well," Lynn drawled, "Now that we're all nice and acquainted…" She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, teetering uncertainly at first and placing a hand out to steady herself. The white robe fell all the way past her feet and slithered after her as she walked to the cupboard. Harry stayed in his chair studying her.

"I really don't think you should be getting up," he suggested.

Lynn's only response was an impossibly sarcastic snort. She threw the cupboard doors open carelessly and began rummaging through her things, muttering.

With a satisfied grunt, she withdrew her wand of weeping willow and flicked it towards herself saying, "Comon Principio". A sucking noise filled the air, followed by a happy pop, like a child joyfully withdrawing a savory lollipop.

A bag appeared just above her hands and floated softly down into her open arms. She reached into it, removing a pair of jeans and a faded sapphire long sleeve shirt; the edges tattered like most of her belongings.

"Here's a tip kid," said Lynn off-handedly, unfolding the clothes, "Never go any where without ready access to a pair of pants." She proceeded to slip the blue jeans on under her robe. When she removed the entire white sheet to don her shirt, Harry turned away, his face turning a charming cherry color. Lynn didn't seem to notice, let alone care. When he turned back, she had taken a small leather box out of the knap-sack, about the size of his palm, and placed it ceremoniously on the edge of the bed.

"What's that?" inquired Harry, reaching out to it. Lynn poked his hand away with her wand.

"A-ta-cha," she warned, "Mine."

"Well, what is it?"

Lynn thought about the question for a moment before replying, "Refreshments." Without another word, she tapped the lock with her wand. With the tinkle of glass and the slow slush of alcoholic beverages, it slowly unfolded into a good-sized, fully stocked and completely portable bar. As naturally as a dog might bury a bone, she picked up a tall glass and began mixing herself a drink.

Harry gaped at the seemingly small box which contained an impossibly large bar, and then looked back up at what must have been the strangest adult he ever met, who was now sipping a wonderful martini on the rocks with a twist. Upon noticing his stare, Lynn calmly asked, "Would you like something?"

Harry gawked at her, not quiet comprehending what she meant.

"To drink, I mean. Would you like something to drink?" Lynn prompted again, rattling the ice in the glass.

"Oh…no! No, no, I'm…I'm fine," he answered quickly. He watched her top off her glass. "Are you an alcoholic?"

Lynn stopped drinking abruptly. "Why, yes, I do believe I am," she chuckled to herself, "Who would've thought it, eh?" She walked unsteadily over to the edge of the bed and sat down, facing Harry.

"Now," Lynn started, in a very professional manner, "Its time for _me_ to ask _you_ some questions." She took another swallow from her drink. "Do you have some kind of hero complex, kid?"

"It's Harry."

"Answer the question."

"What did you ask?" questioned Harry innocently.

Lynn looked at him and smirked. "I think you heard me the first time."

"Well, what do you mean by a 'hero complex'?"

Lynn leaned back and crossed her legs. "You seem to me to have some kind of unquenchable need to save people."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

"I did what anyone would do."

Lynn gazed at him coldly. "Believe me, I've known plenty of folks who would have done the exact opposite and not lost a wink of sleep over it." She tipped the rest of her drink down. "It's my life isn't?" she queried, her voice biting with surprising power.

"Well, yes."

"And I'm supposed to be able to do whatever I want with my life, aren't I?"

"Well, yeah but-"

"So why can't I end it when I think it should be over? Hm? Who branded you my bloody guardian angel?" Lynn stood; replacing her glass in the case and folding it back up. Harry stayed silent.

"With that quality thought of the day," Lynn loaded up her pack, "I bid you a not so fond farewell." She pushed her way out of the room, closely followed by Harry.

Outside, Remus was still talking with the old medi-wizard. It would be more correct to say that the medi-wizard was still talking with Remus, who was listening politely and was desperate to get away. His bored eyes locked upon Harry with great joy.

"Remus," said Harry, walking up to the two men slightly ahead of Lynn, "This is Lynn Harris." However Lynn Harris kept on walking towards the smoked glass door, and waved vaguely over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's a pleasure, but I'm afraid I really must dash."

"Ms. Harris, I'm afraid you cannot leave this hospital."

* * *

A/N: Just do what you always do. 

Audience member: What, run around our houses naked drinking rum, scotch and singing about 'Tequila'?

…Errr…no. Review for me, please! I'm planning on continuing this!

Your Obedient,

T.F.


End file.
